


Concerning Eugoogolies

by Kaelynisfree



Series: Fade Breakout AU [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 5 Times, Angst, Eulogies, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Giant Spiders, Mabari Puppies, Nonbinary Hawke - Freeform, Stairs, The Krew - Freeform, Trespasser Spoilers, background Anders/Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:24:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5971836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaelynisfree/pseuds/Kaelynisfree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Varric gave Hawke's eulogy and the one time he couldn't</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concerning Eugoogolies

It starts as a joke in the heat of battle one day, Varric firing bolts from Bianca, Hawke lobbing spells from their staff, using the stabby end of it. Isabela is fury, twisting from place to place with all the destructive winds of a hurricane. Merrill is a force of nature in her own right, with vines sprouting from the ground, curling around the ankles of their enemies. 

Which, clearly, begs the question, do spiders  _ have  _ ankles? If they ever did, Isabela’s daggers slice quite a bit of the spider’s legs off, making the issue moot. It’s an impressive feat Varric will have to congratulate her about later.  

The spiders are really no match for the group Hawke has assembled, but that doesn’t mean every hit against them misses.

Hawke stumbles backwards as one kicks at them with a leg. They block the spider’s fangs with their staff, but it’s got eight more limbs. Varric watches from a distance, head tilted, considering. The spider pushes against Hawke’s block, attempting to pin them to the ground.

“A little help, Varric? I’d prefer to not experience death by spider!”

Varric smirks, firing Bianca. The bolt hits the creature, yet, the spider steels its resolve and takes full advantage of its unpinned limbs, flailing at Hawke. Hawke flails right back, letting out a distressed yell.

Varric chooses this moment to speak, clear, and with an hint of sentiment in his voice. Like he can’t  _ quite _ keep it back.

“Hawke, practically a hero of Kirkwall, the very model of one, was first and foremost the Hero of our  _ Hearts- _ “

Hawke staggers under the weight of their foe, sparking lightning into its mouth. “Varric, shoot first, talk later-”

A well-placed bolt whizzes past Hawke’s ear and embeds itself between the spider’s front pincers. Through the spider’s cries, Varric continues. “How _ did  _ this smelly dog lord of a human manage to grab our hearts within their Orlesian bulldog like maw?” 

Hawke shoves the sharp end of their staff into the spider and it crumples to the ground, defeated at last.

“I’m sure we will never know.”

“Are you writing my  _ eulogy _ ?” Hawke asks, brushing bits of spider remains off their armor with horror in their face. It’s mostly about the spider guts and not about the fact their best friend is currently writing their eulogy.

Isabela whizzes past, all a blur, hopping over a few of Merrill’s vines in an effort to strip the spiders of anything valuable. “It’s coming along beautifully, Varric! Really touching. Although, it could use more mentions of me.” 

Varric stands, keeping Bianca at the ready. “Thank you, Izzy. Only the best for our dearly departed Hawke. I’ll keep your suggestion in mind.”

“Varric, while I appreciate the sentiment, aren’t I supposed to be already dead-“

“Hawke, watch out!” Merrill warns as a spider descends overhead. Hawke squeals, a spell leaving their hand, directly into the main body of the offending spider. It still manages to land on top of them, knocking them to the floor.

Varric closes in on Hawke and the spider, and punctuates each short sentence with a shot. “Our Hawke. Crushed to death. By a giant spider.”

Another two shots and the spider hisses. “They had so much to live for. So much. It really is unfortunate they had to go in such a terrible way.”

Six bolts in and the spider falls, collapsing dead onto Hawke. Trapped beneath the spider, Hawke groans, but whether it’s in pain or over Varric’s tale, Varric can’t say.

Isabela can’t help but laugh, and even Merrill manages a giggle as Varric stands solemn over Hawke and the spider, one hand clutching at his heart. “It’s really too bad. They were a good one, that Hawke.”

————

It’s about a week after Hawke’s fight with the Arishok. Never let anyone say that getting impaled by a sword as tall as they were could keep Hawke down for long.

When Varric opens the door of the mansion, Hawke stands at the top of the stairs, instead of safely resting in bed.

Hawke’s expression brightens when they see Varric, grinning that trademark Hawke smile that breaks hearts and causes many to swoon. Not Varric, of course; Varric does not swoon. He’s not the type.

“How’s it feel being Kirkwall’s new Champion?” Varric asks with a grin from the bottom of the stairs. 

“Like I have the ability to fight at  _ least  _ three more Arishoks,” Hawke says, starting down them, not a care in the world at the moment. “Or is it just Arishok?”

Varric sighs when he sees they’re dragging the cord of their robe behind them. 

“Three more  _ Arishok _ … no that doesn’t sound right either…” Hawke muses, Varric watching as the cord slips under their feet.

“Hawke, watch where you’re stepping. You’re gonna-”

And that’s when Hawke steps on the loose belt of their robe and falls. The sight could be frightening, but mostly it’s just funny.

Hawke attempts to catch themself by leaning forward, but it only serves to make the fall look more comedic. They toss their limbs out, crashing flat on their ass. If they calmed themself for even a moment, it might be possible to get in a position to slide the rest of the way down, but instead, they attempt to catch each and every stair on the way down to stop themself from falling further.

Varric watches, his first instinct being to rush to catch them, but stops himself when the Champion starts to throw out their limbs. Varric cares about Hawke, but he also cares about not getting his nose broken. Again. The way Hawke is moving is a recipe for one. 

So he remains at the bottom of the stairs and waits for Hawke to plop down at his feet. They roll one step at a time until they hit the floor with a loud thud.

Even Anders can hear it. He barely exits the library before he hears Varric’s laughter coming up the stairs.

“... such a tragedy!” Varric manages to say through his laughter. “That the Champion of Kirkwall should meet their demise so soon after defeating the Arishok!”

Anders peers around the corner and notices Hawke at the bottom of the stairs, laying on their back, spread eagle. 

“That a measly flight of stairs could defeat our Champion is unthinkable, yet here we are…”

“Anders…” Hawke whines when they catch the sight of their mage at the top of the stairs. “I think I cracked my rib again.”

Varric can’t help it. Another burst of laughter erupts from him as he stands back, giving Anders space to kneel next to Hawke. 

“Perhaps it is because stairs were not in abundance in their hometown of Lothering in Ferelden. Dogs they had, but stairs? None…”

Anders can’t help but laugh. 

“You grew up in Ferelden, didn’t you, Blondie? You got trouble with stairs too?” Varric asks once his laughter dies down.

“It must be an apostate thing, Varric,” Anders says, checking over Hawke. “The Circle was  _ full _ of stairs.”

————

Hawke loves dogs. They’ve  _ always  _ loved dogs. Varric knows this. Everyone knows this. 

It’s why everyone agrees to to keep them away from a certain mabari breeding kennel in Hightown. It is really for everyone’s own good and not just Hawke’s. 

But after years of carefully herding Hawke away, Varric knows it’s time. Losing Lord Barkley was hard on them, and Hawke deserves to spend the afternoon with some not so little bundles of joy. 

Varric cannot see Hawke through the pile of mabari, but can hear Hawke’s squeals and laughter that mix with the happy yipping of approximately 8 mabari pups. Maybe more. 

“Varric. I can die happy now,” Hawke says as three of them begin to lick their face. They giggle

Varric can’t help but laugh. It’s a wonderful sight. Almost normal. “It’s a comfort knowing that Hawke died surrounded by something they loved…”

Hawke whoops loudly from the puppy pile. They’re starting to really like these fake eulogies. Or one of the pups is being extraordinarily cute.  

“No one ever expected Hawke to pass by being smothered by a pack of Mabari. But know this. They died happy, covered in dog fur and slobber. Ferelden to the very end.”

“You sure you don’t want in on this, Varric?” Hawke says, holding out the smallest one from the sea of fur.

“Hawke, that pup on your left is nearly as tall as I am. And unlike you, I definitely do not want to be cuddled to death.”

Hawke grins, rocking the puppy gently in front of Varric. It bounces happily. “.... are you sure about that, Varric?”

Varric stares at the puppy. The puppy stares at him, wagging its tail. It yips.

“Such a tragedy…” Varric starts again whilst plucking the pup from Hawke’s hands. He brings it near his face and jumps when it licks his nose.  “Kirkwall not only lost its champion, but also a very well respected member of the merchant’s guild, and all around great guy, Varric Tethras…”

————

“Our Hawke was such a kind… giving soul,” Varric begins one day, as they sit in an ally in Lowtown. It’s disgusting, and this Lowtown grime will  _ never  _ come out of Varric’s coat, but the two of them are still trying to catch their breath. 

“No task was too menial, too small for our big hearted hero…” Varric continues, leaning his head back against the wall and taking another breath.

“You’re too kind, Varric, really…” Hawke says, prodding at their side and wincing, but seemingly unconcerned. “I don’t deserve such kind words.”

Varric stares directly at his friend, defiantly continuing his speech. “You had a rip in your pants? Hawke would scour the city in search of a needle and thread to patch it for you…”

Hawke closes their eyes, rests their head between their knees, and laughs, but the way it’s cut off, Varric can tell they’re just as bruised as he is.

“Or spend three days crawling around Lowtown in order to return a lost scarf…”

Varric is sure he can feel his ribs. He shifts to the side to test the theory and low and behold, it hurts. Sharp pain radiates from his lower rib cage. 

“Who would have thought a mundane task to be so dangerous.” 

Hawke reaches out and grabs their staff, waiting for Varric to finish. 

“But it’s almost as if it were a trap set up to lure our  _ beloved  _ Champion into danger.”

Hawke’s smile suggests an apology. They turn their head to Varric and shrug. Varric actually scowls. 

Hawke can’t help but grin. “Oh, you wound my bleeding heart,” they manage, pushing themself up the wall with the help of their staff. They offer a hand to Varric, and the dwarf takes it with a sigh. 

“Yeah, that’s not the only thing that’s bleeding,” Varric says, standing finally. Everything hurts, but he can manage. “Now, come on. Let’s get to Daisy’s. She should have a potion or two we can chug.”

Hawke grins, following as Varric starts in the direction of the Alienage, the two of them carefully making their way over the prone bodies of a quite a few thugs. 

“Thanks buddy,” they say.

Varric waves Hawke off. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t mention it.”

————

Normally, an evening at the Hanged Man would be a night of revelry, of drinking and cards. But not that night. No, Hawke is too embarrassed for laughter. There’s a first time for everything, right?

Hawke sits at the bar, trying to order their drink in silence, ignoring the lot of them while Isabela and Merrill raptly watch Varric weave his words as if he is making a speech for the ages. Which, to be fair, he probably is.

“…You might know them best as Kirkwall’s Champion, the champion of the voiceless, the champion of the downtrodden, the only one willing to help. But to me, Hawke was only one thing-“

“Please, Varric, not now…” Hawke whines softly from their seat at the bar, shrinking down, trying to occupy less space. Their cheeks glow a distinct shade of red, one that threatens to spread to the rest of their face, and their expression is pained.

Izzy grins, elbowing Hawke. “No, no. Let Varric finish! I think it’s only right.”

“To me,” Varric says, clearing his throat and continuing. “Hawke was the biggest slut in all of _ Thedas _ . In all affectionate meanings of the phrase. The  _ Sluttiest _ .”

Merrill giggles. “It’s true!”

“Here, here!” Isabela whoops, a glass raised in the air. 

Hawke begins to talk faster, with a panicked rasp in their voice, their face buried in their drink. “Keep it down, Varric. I know I fucked up, but does everyone in the Hanged Man have to know about this-“

“How did they die, you ask?!” Varric practically yells to cut Hawke off. Hawke grimaces, downing the rest of their drink before pushing the flagon towards Corff, and motions to keep the drinks coming. It’s going to be a long night, if Varric has anything to say about it.

“Our slutty hero, Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, died of  _ shame _ .”

Izzy mock gasps while Merrill’s giggles get louder. 

“Can you imagine? Embarrassment and guilt!  _ That  _ is how our beloved Champion met their oh-so-untimely demise.”

Hawke hits their head against the bar. Once. Twice. They leave it there, face first into the years of accumulated slop created by Corff sliding orders to customers.

Varric pats Hawke on the back. “Poor Hawke. So guilt-ridden.”

“I didn’t  _ know _ !” Hawke cries from their face down position at the bar.

“ _ So _ shamed!”

It doesn’t seem possible, but when they raise their head, Hawke is an even brighter shade of red. “She wasn’t wearing the thing! Didn’t even have that big a symbol. Just a  _ pendant _ !”

“They laid upon the floor of their lofty mansion and just  _ died _ .”

“We did try to warn you, Hawke,” Merrill says, rubbing Hawke’s shoulder comfortingly. 

“ _ Merrill and Varric _ tried to warn you,” Isabela amends. “I was perfectly content to watch you try to seduce the new Revered Mother.” 

Varric’s voice crescendos over Isabela’s proclamation, clear as a bell. “Some say the Maker struck them down. But a guilty conscience can do so many things.”

Hawke groans. “Varric, you’re the  _ worst _ .”

“… And sometimes if you’re quiet enough...”

There are a few more loud thuds, courtesy of Hawke’s forehead.

Varric drinks, watching Hawke’s very pathetic display. “You can still hear their pained cries…”

_ Thud. Thud. _

_ “ _ It’s almost as if their ghost is with us at this very bar…”

————

Varric has sheaths and sheaths of paper filled with eulogy ideas. He chronicles them, and he  _ always  _ writes them down. He is especially fond of bringing them up when Hawke has a terrible idea, or does something completely ridiculous, which is often. 

He has them, but never thinks that one day he might actually need to use them. 

The Hawke-Amell estate is brimming with people, chatting quietly amongst themselves.  All wear dark tones, blacks and blues, subdued greens, and greys that are more like midnight. Hawke would have been so proud. Not at the crowd’s fashion sense, which is terrible, as fashion had not been kind to Kirkwall that year. No, Hawke would have been brimming with joy that there were  _ people  _ in their home.  

Varric tries not to think about the irony, but he can tell Aveline is thinking the same thing by the severe expression on her face. 

“You ready, Varric?”

He has a scroll of papers in his hand and holds it tight. “Is everyone here?”

He scans the crowd, picking out familiar faces. Izzy, Merrill, and Fenris are all in the back. He doesn’t spot Blondie, which he supposes is a blessing. Not that he doesn’t deserve to be there, but it’s just easier. Nobody wants to see someone get arrested at a funeral, and honestly, he wouldn’t put it past Aveline to do just that if a certain mage had shown up.

“Looks like,” she says, watching Varric carefully. “The people want to hear from you, but I understand if you can’t…”

Varric shakes his head. “No. I owe it to Hawke.”

He begins to trek up to the platform that had been erected for just this occasion. 

The crowd goes silent as he gets to the center. All eyes are on him. He opens up the scroll of paper and lets out a long sigh.

“What can I say…” He starts. He can feel his throat tighten as if it’s about to break. “Hawke was my friend…”

The crowd is silent. Merrill is already crying quietly, and Isabela holds her. Fenris stands with his arms crossed, looking more broody than usual.

Varric tries so hard to imagine Hawke sitting next to Aveline, patiently waiting for Varric to make a sarcastic jab at Hawke’s expense. But Hawke isn’t there. Hawke is gone. 

He takes a breath, looks at the pages in his hands. “Hawke was my friend… and they deserved so much better than this shit-hole  _ ever  _ gave them.” 

The crowd isn’t so silent anymore. He can hear the audible gasps, but can’t find it in him to care. He drops the paper then steps off the platform before Aveline can even stand.  

“…Thank you, Viscount!” He hears Aveline say over the hushed whispers. “Beautiful words!” The crowd hesitantly follows her applause.

That feeling in his chest? It’s a crushing anger. It should have been Hawke as Viscount. Not him. 

There’s guilt too. Shame. Hawke deserves to have ballads sung to their greatness. A eulogy of more than two sentences.

He looks back at the crowd, who seems to be calming a little. This crowd who only took and took from Hawke and never gave them anything in return but trouble and heartbreak. They don’t get to know who Hawke truly was. How they were really just a kid from Ferelden, trying to do right by their family, adopted or otherwise.

No. They would just get a tale of their champion. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Varric walks out of the estate, past Aveline. Past Merrill and Fenris and Isabela. They don’t follow him. He walks through Hightown, and eventually into Lowtown, going straight for the Hanged Man. He doesn’t technically have to live there anymore, but who wants to stay in the Viscount’s Keep anyway?

A bottle finds its way into his hands as he settles at his desk.

He hasn’t finished the thing when Izzy arrives, but he’s close. She plucks the bottle from his hands and drinks straight from it before laying out on Varric’s chaise. 

“Well, I royally fucked that one up, didn’t I.”

Izzy laughs. “Yes, and it was spectacular.”

“I’m sure all of Hightown is wondering why they made me Viscount now.”

She shushes him from her seat, waving the bottle at him. “Grief does strange things to us all. They’ll get over it.”

Varric sighs, leaning back his in chair.

“You should have seen Aveline try to save the day. It was quite the sight, Varric. Especially when she found the pages of your ‘eulogy’ were completely blank. Her face was redder than her  _ hair _ .”

He can’t help but laugh at that. 

“You really didn’t have anything written?” She asks before pouring the last dregs of the bottle into her mouth dramatically. She gives it a few shakes for good measure.

Varric pulls out a scroll of paper from a drawer in his desk and throws it to Izzy, who catches it neatly. He motions for her to open it. 

She reads in silence for a few moments. “… This is beautiful, Varric. I mean, not as good as calling all of Hightown a shithole, but it’s good. There would have been no dry eyes in the house. Why didn’t you read it?”

Varric pauses for a moment. 

“I picked up the blank scroll by accident.”

Izzy lets out a bellowing laugh. “Really?”

“Didn’t realize it till I got on that platform.”

She looks over at him, grinning. “Hawke would have been  _ so  _ proud.”

They chat for a while, only stopping to procure more to drink, eventually moving down into the bar itself where Merrill, Aveline, and Fenris wait.

“Eulogies are for suckers anyway,” Varric says, holding a drink in one hand, and Merrill’s hand in the other. “We all know Hawke was a good one. Words aren’t gonna change anything, right?”

No, Varric thinks. Words won’t bring them back.


End file.
